Chapter 2
Despite the crowds flowing into the port, Daniel Plouffe’s demeanor prevented him from blending in with the carefree strollers. He displayed the signs of a hunted man: walking at a steady pace and glancing around a lot—probably afraid he’d bump into security officers patrolling the area.
Daniel’s pace quickened. Maybe he was closing in on his destination.
I was wearing heels—not exactly meant for brisk walking. I could feel the beginning of a blister on my right heel. I gritted my teeth and hurried to keep up.
Daniel turned onto the walkway leading to the boats docked in the marina. I was only yards away but lost sight of him as he vanished into the masses of people attending the boat show. Just my luck. I hoped the loud music swelling into the area from the beach party obliterated my curses.
I nudged my way through until I spotted Daniel again. With nothing between us, I aimed my camera and took multiple photos. I kept at it as he boarded the deck of a fifty-foot yacht and went below.
Clusters of people suddenly obstructed my view, so I moved right up to the yacht and took a few more shots. I was about to make my getaway when I felt a sharp object in my back.
“Ne te retourne pas. Monte abord!” The raspy male voice with a distinctive French-Canadian accent told me not to turn around and to board the yacht. Before I could react, he snatched the camera out of my hand and flung it in the water.
“Hey! You can’t do that!” I tried to glance at my assailant but was greeted with a strong grasp around the back of my neck.
“Move! Get in boat!" He pushed me forward and I stumbled aboard the yacht.
Raspy Voice kept a firm grip around my neck and told me not to move.
As if I could.
We stood in an area equipped with leather benches, navigation equipment, and counter space finished in elegant wood paneling. I didn't know much about boats, but I assumed the other end contained bedrooms and bathrooms—the latter known as heads in the boat world.
Then I saw them.
Two leather jackets sporting the Hells Angels’ Death Head insignia hung from a couple of barstools.
Daniel entered the room. “What’s going on here?” He spoke French with the same Quebecois accent as his counterpart.
“Idiot!” Raspy Voice swore at Daniel and blamed him for not having noticed I’d followed him back to the boat.
“C’est impossible!” Daniel said.
Raspy Voice tapped me hard on the shoulder and asked me if I were a reporter.
“I don’t speak French,” I said in my most convincing voice. “If it’s money and credit cards you want, take them and let me go.”
Still clutching my neck, Raspy Voice continued to chat with Daniel in French. “Look for ID in her bag.”
As Daniel ambled up to me, I caught the smell of liquor on his breath. He snatched my handbag and rummaged through it. He pulled out my phone, dropped it to the floor, and stomped on it. He grinned at me, victorious about his conquest.
I cringed. My lifeline to the world lay shattered at my feet. I could only hope my text message had reached Michael by now.
Daniel resumed his search until he found the slim black wallet that contained my ID. “Megan Scott,” he said aloud. He told Raspy Voice there was nothing to indicate I was a reporter. He stared at me for a moment, recognition flashing in his eyes. His scar twitched as he said, “Mais oui, I see you in auto.” He went on to tell his companion about our earlier encounter.
“Shut up,” Raspy Voice shouted at him in French. “You put us in a hell of a lot of trouble. The boss doesn’t tolerate mistakes.”
“It’s not my fault women follow me home,” Daniel said, smirking.
Raspy Voice let out a string of French obscenities. “You picked up that other woman in a bar last night and brought her back here … pretended this was your yacht. You fool! Damn lucky I slipped her a few bucks and sent her off.”
Daniel dismissed his ranting with a wave. “You worry too much.”
“You still don’t get it, do you?” Raspy Voice said. “I caught this woman taking pictures of you and the yacht. You’re damn lucky I spotted her and ditched the camera.”
Daniel grinned at me, his scar appearing all the more gruesome in the fading daylight. “Photos?” He pretended to click a camera in my face. He stretched his diminutive frame, raised his chin, and looked at Raspy Voice. “Eh! Mon chum, you jealous.” He glanced at me and winked.
Raspy Voice lost it. “Idiot! The cops will find her car. They’ll search the harbor. We can’t afford to hang around here any longer.” He paused. “Find something to cover her eyes and mouth.”
I panicked and wanted to scream, but fear had taken hold. I felt paralyzed—unable to utter a word.
Daniel returned with a king size pillowcase, slit it open, and cut it in half. Raspy Voice released his grasp on my neck while Daniel blindfolded me. I jumped as a second piece of fabric cut across my mouth and was tied at the back of my head.
A drawer slid open. Metal clinked. Was it a gun? A knife? Where they going to kill me? I broke into a cold sweat.
The scent of liquor told me Daniel had returned to my side. A stretching, ripping sound followed. Raspy Voice pulled my hands behind my back while Daniel wrapped duct tape around them.
“Et le mulet?” Daniel asked.
A mule. They were dealing with a carrier—someone who closes an illicit business transaction between two parties in exchange for a commission. What were the goods? Drugs? Something else?
“I took care of it.” Raspy Voice led me across the floor and shoved me onto a leather bench.
“And my share?” Daniel proceeded to bind my feet with duct tape.
Raspy Voice must have gestured to him because the men moved away.
A heavy object thudded on a surface. A zipper slid open and papers were shuffled. I figured they weren’t more than ten feet away.
“Here,” Raspy Voice said.
"Are you crazy?” Daniel said. “What the hell do you think I’m going to do with five hundred dollars? The boss said we could split ten thousand from the cash the mule delivered today.”
“Change of plans. The boss called earlier to say I should handle the drug deal solo this time.”
“Why? We’re both heading out to the same place.”
“No, the boss wants us to split up from this point on. He thinks you’ve made too many mistakes.”
“Mistakes? What mistakes?”
Raspy Voice groaned. “Look, the boss has eyes and ears everywhere. He knows how you like to stick your nose into everybody's business. How you kept notes on the other biker members when you were doing time. The word on the street is you’re a snitch.”
“No, you’ve got it all wrong,” Daniel said. “My memory isn’t that good. That’s why I write things down once in a while.”
“Don’t give me that crap. You snuck off lots of times to write stuff when we were in jail. I saw you. There’s nothing wrong with your memory.”
“Who made you the expert?”
“Where are the notes?”
“I threw them away.”
Raspy Voice swore again. “I told you, the boss doesn't like you taking notes. You want to make things right with him, you give him the notes.”
Daniel raised his voice. “I don’t give a damn what the boss likes or doesn't like. I’m not giving up my share of the money. I risked my life escaping from jail. Don’t think it was easy, planning everything so fast after they transferred us to that temporary hole. If I hadn’t set things up with Henri to have us work in the laundry room that night, we’d never have gotten onto the truck and out the gates. Why the boss ordered me to take you along, I don’t know, but you owe me.”
I trembled. Were Raspy Voice and Pierre Favreau—the other escapee—one and the same?
“Yeah, yeah, I know I owe you,” Raspy Voice said. “So here’s what I’ll do. I’ll give you a chance to walk away before it’s too late. I’ll even tell the boss you never
came back to the yacht tonight.”
“No, I want my share. I’m not going anywhere without it.”
“Then you give me no choice!”
The two men exchanged blows and slammed into counters and bolted-down furniture. Objects crashed to the floor…glass broke and scattered…
I heard a deep grunt, then a heavy thump as one of the men fell to the floor.
I held my breath. Would I be next?
I thought of Michael and all things we’d planned to do together… No. It couldn’t end this way. Please, God, no!
A cell phone chimed. Raspy Voice answered. “Oui, boss. Tout de suite.”
I heard the sound of paper crumpling and a zipper closing on what I assumed by now was a briefcase. Hurried footsteps coming my way. Stopping.
I felt my blood go cold and said a prayer. Had my curiosity finally done me in? I hoped that death would be swift.
Footsteps thundered past me and out the door.
I exhaled. Had he left for good? Would he come back? Should I make a move now?
I had to get out of here while I could. My limbs felt stiff. I wasn’t sure I could stand up with my feet bound together, let alone keep my balance.
I had to focus. I remembered how Daniel had opened a drawer. I hopped over to the counter—one small but steady hop at a time.
I opened a drawer, stretching my fingers behind me in search of a pair of scissors or something sharp. Nothing. Damn it.
What did Daniel use to cut the duct tape? Maybe he left the utensil on the top of the counter. I ran my fingertips along the surface. Nothing. Stay calm, I told myself. It’s what Michael would do in a similar situation.
I extended my arms into the drawer as far as I could and managed to find a small knife this time. The blade had teeth, so it was a good start. I couldn’t say as much for my agility. Handling a knife in hands bound behind my back while blindfolded would present a challenge even for Houdini.
I dropped the knife a few times and had to grope for it on the floor. Getting back up was a whole other adventure, so I decided to save myself the trouble and stay put.
Minutes went by, though it could have been more. All the while, I kept wondering if Raspy Voice or any more of his cronies would return to the yacht. Sweat trickled down my face and neck, but I kept on going.
I finally managed to cut through the tape around my wrists. I pulled off the blindfold to discover that the cabin was enveloped in darkness except for moonlight shining through the windows. I untied the gag cloth, then cut through the duct tape around my feet. It was much faster this time.
I grabbed my handbag and escaped into the night.
Timely Escape (A Short Story) Page 3